


Telling vs. Showing

by mokuyoubi



Category: Bandom, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Bloodplay, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-13
Updated: 2013-03-13
Packaged: 2017-12-05 03:44:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/718507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mokuyoubi/pseuds/mokuyoubi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part of a much larger fic where Ryan and Spencer go to Whitby so Ryan can soak up the ~atmosphere for his writing, and there they meet vampire!Brendon. This is a porny, plotless, self-indulgent excerpt from that 'verse, where Spencer really wants Brendon to bite him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Telling vs. Showing

**Author's Note:**

> I've been sitting on this a long time. Way back when someone pretty much tore it to pieces and rewrote at least a 1/3 of it, and made me feel like absolute shit about it. So...I'm just warning you up front that it probably sucks (no pun intended). Thanks so much to pr_scatterbrain who looked over this almost two years ago, and who made me feel better about it and myself.
> 
> Also, I, like Spencer, probably do way too much telling rather than showing here.

They've been back in America for about two months, and everything is amazing. 

Okay, so it was sort of weird trying to find a blood source for Brendon. In Whitby, William had plenty of connections, but Spencer was pretty sure that getting blood bags on the dl in L.A. would be at least a little difficult. 

Apparently being the very distant descendent of Dracula and a new vampire in town meant all the older vampires wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood. None of them seemed as inclined to tease Brendon over the whole “vegetarian vampire” thing as Carden was, either. Within a couple of days, Spencer's kitchen is stocked with a new, special mini-fridge devoted to Brendon's blood supply, with fresh delivered every three weeks.

Brendon's happy with it—it's as close to willing as he's going to get, though he wasn't entirely comfortable with taking blood that people had donated with another use clearly in mind. Spencer pointed out that people donated to save lives, and that's what the blood was doing for Brendon, which mostly settled the problem.

Spencer also worried that Brendon would have trouble readjusting to America after living abroad for the past few years. But besides spending way too much time outdoors for the first week and getting sun burnt, Brendon's deliriously happy to be home. (Brendon's sunburn healed in about twenty minutes after he fed, anyway, so Spencer hardly thinks that counts as a problem).

Most days Brendon sleeps in late while Spencer's at work, and once he gets home they spend the early evening exploring the city. Spencer's only been in L.A. a year, and other than the places Ryan drags him, he hasn't seen a lot. Before being turned, Brendon never visited, so it's new for both of them.

They find lots of cool, unique little bars with live shows several times a week, lots of up-and-coming bands of just about every flavor. Sometimes they just stay in, playing video games and watching Netflix, and as much fun as Spencer has going out with Brendon, dancing together wobbly drunk in darkened bars, cuddling on the couch wins out just about every time. 

Brendon surfed as a kid, when visiting his family in Hawaii, and Spencer always wanted to learn. Brendon's more than happy to teach him, delighting in beaches that are warm and sunlit, rather than cold and foggy. They go most weekends, though now Spencer makes sure Brendon's slathered in sunscreen before leaving the house. He might heal more quickly than humans, but he also burns more easily and even if Brendon doesn't care, Spencer does.

Then there's the sex, and fuck, Spencer _really_ can't complain about that. He's never been in a relationship like this before, where they can't get enough of each other. Brendon wakes him up in the morning or sometimes the middle of the night, meets him at the front door, tackles him half-way through making dinner, drags him into the backseat of the car at the deserted beach after sunset, or in the alley behind some club—anywhere and everywhere, whenever.

So...Spencer knows he's being sort of greedy, but he can't help it. They'll be fucking, and he'll see it in Brendon's face, the way he's holding himself back, lips pulled tight over his fangs. Spencer remembers the one, brief moment when Brendon bit him, what feels like ages ago, and though the sensation is hazy, he does know he was more freaked out by the act of biting than by the pain it brought. Still, his reaction was enough to make Brendon miserable with guilt. He swore when they started dating that he'd never bite Spencer again.

At the time, Spencer was pleased with the promise, because he didn't imagine he'd ever _want_ to be bitten again. He was stupid, but in his defence he was still adjusting to the whole vampire thing at that time. It never occurred to him that biting might be sexy. 

Now, Spencer wishes Brendon tacked on a little “until you're ready” to the end of his promise. Because no matter how much Spencer tries to assure Brendon that he is, in fact, entirely ready to be bitten, Brendon flat out refuses. Spencer can be relentless, and he's willing to think outside the box.

*

It's almost eight in the morning—Spencer's just woken up, and Brendon hasn't even gone to sleep yet. He went out with some other vampires last night after Spencer turned in. Spencer can't complain, when Brendon wakes him with a blow job and makes him pancakes after.

Now Spencer's sort of running late and Brendon's getting ready to go to bed, and they're sharing the sink in the bathroom, Brendon's brushing his teeth and Spencer's shaving. Every few seconds Spencer sees Brendon glancing at him side-long in the mirror, as Spencer draws the razor along his neck. It isn't exactly a mystery what Brendon's looking at, and the anticipation of pain isn't enough to talk Spencer out of the idea that pops into his brain. 

He's spent so many years perfecting the art of _not_ cutting himself that it's a little difficult to actually do it, but at just the right angle and pressure, the skin gives. Spencer hisses, splashing water over his face and neck to rinse away the rest of the foam, and all that remains is the blood, welling persistently along the thin slit on his jaw.

When Spencer lifts his gaze to the mirror, he sees Brendon's reflection, paused in the act of brushing his teeth. It should be comedic, Brendon's mouth hung open, toothbrush entirely forgotten, eyes fixed on the blood. Except for how Spencer's blood is roaring in his veins and his breathing has gone shallow. He delicately runs a finger along the cut and sucks it into his mouth. 

Brendon actually groans; a low, animal sound that makes Spencer shiver. Then he bends over, spits out his mouthful of toothpaste, and all but runs out of the bathroom. Spencer makes a face at his reflection, sighs, and has to dab at the cut with toilet paper for ten minutes before it finally stops seeping. 

*

Spencer figures sex is probably the best time to try again. Brendon's already turned on and his inhibitions are lowered. Brendon's riding him, hips tight around Spencer's hips. He's sort of crazy hot like this, all that pale skin on display, twisting around. Plus the whole vampire thing gives Brendon an unfair advantage in the stamina department. He can keep going all night, rising and falling on Spencer's dick, hands braced on Spencer's chest.

Brendon's close, Spencer can tell from the way he's got his eyes screwed shut tight, and the jerky movements of his thighs. Spencer tightens his hand around Brendon's cock and wraps his other one around the back of Brendon's neck. He gives a tug, pulling Brendon's face down to rest in the curve of Spencer's neck. Brendon's huffs an unnecessary breath and his lips part, just brushing Spencer's skin.

“Brendon, you can do it, if you want,” Spencer pants. “Go ahead, just do it.” He's about to come, and he can almost taste it, the way it'd feel with Brendon sinking his teeth in deep. His hips jerk in anticipation, entirely without his permission. Brendon makes a soft, desperate sound, muffled in Spencer's throat.

“Come on,” Spencer urges. His fingers lace in Brendon's hair and he gives a sharp tug. “Bite me, Brendon.”

There's the sharp press of teeth against Spencer's skin, just skimming, not enough pressure to actually break the surface. Spencer groans, tossing his head back on the pillow. Brendon makes another, almost inhuman sound, fangs scraping down the line of Spencer's throat. There's litany of _yes yes yes_ in Spencer's brain, and maybe spilling off his tongue, and he's coming so fucking hard, thrusting up to meet Brendon's rocking hips.

Brendon keeps riding him through it, nails digging into Spencer's skin. Spencer has to struggle to keep his hand moving, jerking Brendon off until he feels the cool, wet rush of Brendon coming between them. Brendon bites down, but not with his fangs, just the blunt press of his flat teeth. 

Spencer's too boneless with pleasure to get annoyed about it at the time, but even as he dozes off, distantly aware of Brendon moving around to clean them both up, Spencer's brain is coming up with a new approach.

 

*

Before moving to L.A., Spencer never would have thought he'd take up jogging. Now he feels like he hasn't really completed his day 'til he gets in a run. It's exhilarating, even when he's gotten to the point where breathing hurts and his muscles feel like jello, he still manages to keep going. Ryan tells him he's crazy when Spencer tries to explain that he loves that feeling.

Since getting back to America, Spencer hasn't really found much time for it as Brendon has settled into his life. They've been active, but Spencer's still itching to get back to running. Spending every workday at a desk makes his skin feel too tight; today he's determined to go after work.

Brendon is still sleeping when Spencer gets home. Pete, one of the older L.A. vampires who's taken a special liking to Brendon and Spencer both, had a party the night before and Travie was experimenting with lacing blood with weed, or something. Spencer tries not to be bitter that his schedule often gets in the way of his being able to attend these things.

Spencer's changing into his work-out clothes and Brendon stirs, lifting his head from the pillow. “You running? I can come,” he says, but he sounds woozy, he's so tired.

Spencer chuckles, half-dressed in his running shorts and nothing else, and climbs up to straddle Brendon over the sheets. “Tomorrow,” he says. “I'll be back in an hour and a half, and then we can go out, maybe?”

Brendon hums a happy, sleepy agreement, and leans into the kiss Spencer presses to his lips. His fingers are like ice on Spencer's ribs, his mouth cool like he's just drank. Sometimes Spencer thinks he'll never get used to it, but it isn't exactly as if he minds.

The run is good is surprisingly good—he worried his inactivity would make starting up again too difficult, but it's energising. It's a breezy day and the sunset is just gorgeous, and Spencer just keeps going until he realises he's gone past Summit Drive.

By the time Spencer gets home, the sun's gone down entirely. He sort of stumbles up the front steps, muscles like rubber after the distance, and pushing himself the last few blocks. His heart is racing and he's covered in sweat, and it's sort of gross, but he's high on the endorphins and can't find it in himself to care.

Brendon's sprawled out on the sofa in nothing but a pair of drawstring pants. There's a thick book open on his lap and the television is playing the animal channel. Brendon's head raises sharply when Spencer walks in, reaching his arms over his head and arching his back. 

“What's up?” Spencer asks, pausing in stretching his quads, because Brendon's eyes are startlingly wide and he's just staring. Spencer knows he probably looks like a hot mess. His hair's plastered to his head in sweat, and he still can't get his racing heart and breath under control.

When Brendon doesn't answer, Spencer actually starts to worry. He comes closer, half-kneeling on the sofa beside Brendon. This close, he realises that Brendon's not just staring blankly, but at a specific point on Spencer's neck.

 _Oh._ Spencer hasn't considered this method before. He tilts his neck to the side, showing it off as best he can. Sweat is still trickling from his hairline, down his cheeks and jaw. Brendon actually licks his lips, a little flash of fang appearing before he closes his mouth and swallows hard.

Hand braced on the back of the sofa, Spencer swings a leg over Brendon's, kneeling over his lap. Brendon tries to lean away, but there's really not anywhere to go, and this position puts Spencer's neck right at eye-level.

“G—good run?” Brendon asks, voice hilariously high-pitched and croaky all at once.

“Mmm,” Spencer hums in agreement. He ducks his head, catching Brendon's lips in a salt-tinged kiss.

Cool fingers find their way under the hem of Spencer's shirt, resting lightly in the small of his back. It feels sort of deliriously good against Spencer's flushed skin and he moans into Brendon's mouth. Brendon makes a strangled, desperate sound in response, nails pressing into Spencer's spine.

Spencer lets his weight settle in Brendon's lap. Brendon's dick is already hard and he grinds up against Spencer's ass. His hands grip tight on Spencer's hips, hauling him closer. It's more aggressive than Spencer's used to. Brendon isn't exactly passive, by any means, but he usually lets Spencer take the lead. But if the way Spencer's heart skips a beat and his skin tingles is any indication, he likes it.

It's hard for Spencer to make himself pull away when every few moments he can feel the tease of fangs against his lips, but he parts from Brendon anyway. He tangles his fingers in Brendon's hair and gives a slight tug, guiding his head down to the crook of Spencer's neck. 

Brendon inhales sharply. His nose just brushes Spencer's skin and he makes one of those low, inhuman sounds that makes Spencer's stomach flip and the hair at the back of his neck stand on end. It's half arousal and half animalistic fear—his brain trusts that Brendon won't hurt him, but his body isn't so sure. 

The disconnect makes Spencer twist in Brendon's lap, squirming closer while his back arches away, and the shivers rippling up his spine have nothing to do with how cold Brendon's body is against him. But Brendon just places a soft, closed-mouth kiss to Spencer's pulse, then another, and another, lips soft and wet. 

Spencer's so hard it's painful and he pushes his ass back against Brendon's dick. Somehow he's never considered Brendon fucking him. Brendon's always seemed so eager to be fucked, never shown the slightest indication that he'd like to try it the other way around, but now it's all Spencer can think about. He's bigger than Brendon in pretty much every way, but Brendon's just vibrating with this barely contained strength. 

It makes Spencer feel raw and vulnerable and spread open. His fingers flex in Brendon's hair. He's embarrassed the way his voice comes out, so desperate, when he says, “Come _on_ Brendon, just—just do it, I know you want to.”

Brendon whines, nosing up the line of Spencer's throat, sniffing behind his ear. “Spence,” he says, pausing like he means to say something more, but the silence stretches out between them. 

Spencer pulls away just enough to get off his t-shirt. He flings it away and draws Brendon into another kiss. Spencer's hands rest against Brendon's chest, smoothing his hands over Brendon's collarbone, fingers curling gently around his neck. He sinks into Brendon's embrace, the way Brendon's hands smooth up Spencer's back, over the wings of shoulder blades. 

Pressed skin to skin like this is almost as good as a cool shower. Spencer bites down hard on Brendon's lip and tugs, and Brendon growls, actually _growls_. It's this low, warning sound, and he pulls back from Spencer, baring his fangs. His eyes are dark, almost entirely pupil, and the way he glances up at Spencer from under his lashes makes him look dangerous. 

Spencer tends to forget sometimes—not that Brendon's a vampire, but what that means, mythologically. Brendon's dorky, loud and cheerful, constantly spazzing out. And sure William and Pete can be scary, but none of the vampire Spencer's met take blood from the unwilling, and none of them _kill_ anyone. 

So Spencer hasn't really taken much time to consider that they're only a generation or two removed from the creatures he grew up seeing in horror movies. Seeing Brendon like this should frighten him, or at least make him reconsider the biting thing, but instead it drives home how much restraint Brendon has shown to this point, how trustworthy he really is.

“Spence,” Brendon says, warning. His fingers are squeezing hard enough to leave bruises on Spencer's hips.

“It's okay,” Spencer says, heart caught in his throat. It's still beating wildly out of control. He makes his fingers loosen in Brendon's hair and trail down his neck, over his cheek, touch soft and soothing. 

It's not like Spencer's exactly had the opportunity to examine Brendon's fangs—Brendon keeps them hidden like he's embarrassed by them. Spencer presses his thumb against one, and it's sharper than it looks, which he supposes is a good thing, when you wanna break the skin as easily as possible. There's this ceaseless rumbling in Brendon's chest that Spencer feels more than hears, like a wild cat examining potential prey.

Without warning, and so quickly Spencer can't even process what's happening until he's flat on his back, Brendon flips them, twisting so Spencer's laid back on the sofa beneath him. Brendon drags Spencer's track shorts and underwear off in a series of jerky, violent movements and shucks out of his own pants in so fast it's actually a blur. “Stay there,” he says, and it's not like Spencer was really inclined to move anyway, but he finds himself nodding his head.

Brendon's only gone a few seconds, but it feels like an eternity to Spencer, sprawled out naked on the sofa, shivering. He's come back with lube which he lays on the sofa back. Arms braced on the arm of the sofa at either side of Spencer's head, Brendon lowers himself over Spencer. He lays a soft kiss against Spencer's mouth, moving back before Spencer has a chance to respond. There's a questioning look in his eyes, wondering if he's going too far, but Spencer just meets his gaze unflinchingly.

Spencer's back arches away from the sofa when Brendon goes down on him, deep-throating right from the start. Brendon's thumb presses down hard behind Spencer's balls, and Spencer isn't even aware of having closed his eyes, but there are sparks behind his lids. He can't help buck his hips up, but Brendon just moans in approval—there are definite benefits to a boyfriend who doesn't need to breathe.

After too brief a time, Brendon pulls away, sitting on his heels between Spencer's thighs. Spencer makes himself open his eyes to watch as Brendon pours the lube in his palm. The first touch of Brendon's lube covered fingers is shockingly cold when they reach between Spencer's thighs, brushing lightly over his hole.

Spencer makes a helpless sound, and tries not to wriggle away. There's nothing for it, unless he wants to do this himself, or take a break while Brendon goes and drinks something, and Spencer's still holding out hope that Brendon will be drinking from _him_.

Brendon doesn't actually apologise, but his dry hand rubs over Spencer's hipbone in a soothing sort of way. Spencer makes himself take a deep breath and move into the touch when Brendon begins to push one slick, cold finger inside. It's sort of hard to fix on one sensation, from the cold or the tinge of pain and general discomfort, and maybe it's better this way—he's feeling too many things to be bothered by one in particular.

By the time Brendon adds a second finger, Spencer's body has mostly adjusted to the shock. Brendon's not exactly gentle, but he's not hurting Spencer, either, and his movements are sure. His skin is quick to warm against Spencer's, and he keeps making these teasing slips of his fingertip against Spencer's prostate, enough to make Spencer let out shuddery breaths and strain for more.

It's all a little hasty; Spencer can tell from his touch how desperate and impatient Brendon is. He doesn't even try three fingers, just pulls back and slicks more lube down his dick, fucking into his fist a few times, staring at Spencer the entire time. 

Spencer feels pin-pricks of heat along his scalp and down his neck at the look. He reaches out without really thinking about it, wrapping a hand around Brendon's and guiding him down, tilting his hips up, until he can feel Brendon pressed against him. His voice comes out stupidly breathy when he says Brendon's name.

Brendon doesn't answer, just pushes forward. Spencer can't stop the guttural sound that rises in his throat, head tossed back on the sofa arm. He brings a leg up and the slide is easier. Brendon sinks all the way in and Spencer feels split wide open and sort of raw. He can't honestly say whether Brendon feels cold or burning hot inside him, but it's almost too much already. Then Brendon starts to move.

 _Oh fuck_ , Spencer thinks, or says, both, whatever. Brendon doesn't give him any time to adjust before he's fucking Spencer with a hard, relentless rhythm. Spencer can't concentrate on anything other than the sensation. The drag out is—there isn't any word Spencer can grasp onto other than delicious—and every time Brendon thrusts back in, jarringly rough, it shocks another desperate sound from Spencer's mouth.

Spencer's already so close to the edge—it's like his first time all over again—and Brendon's not even touching his dick. Spencer could get a hand between their bodies and do it himself, but he likes it just like this, just Brendon filling him up. The only thing that could make it better would be Brendon biting him.

The thing is, Spencer's never thought of vampires as sexy. He watched _Buffy_ , and Ryan made him read more of _The Vampire Chronicles_ than he'll ever admit to anyone, and it's never been a turn on. He never watched Angel or Spike bite Buffy and think it was sexy for any reason other than the noises Sarah Michelle Gellar made. He definitely never fantasised about being bitten himself, never thought immortality was mysterious or desirable.

It's the idea of Brendon doing it what gets to Spencer. The fact that Brendon can get blood whenever he needs it, but he _wants_ Spencer's. So much so that he almost can't control himself. Brendon isn't so great with control, and it's just hot that he's managed to hold out this long, but Spencer wants him to let go.

And once Spencer started thinking about it, he couldn't stop. Now he's dying to know what it'll feel like. William once said something about having people beg him to drink from them a second time, and Patrick, for all that he seems to be a really intelligent, no-nonsense sort of dude, is unashamed of the marks Pete leaves on his neck and arms. Clearly there's some appeal to it, and Spencer would like to see for himself.

“Brendon,” he pants, getting a fistful of Brendon's hair and pulling his face up for a quick, messy kiss. “Don't you want to?”

Brendon rocks his hips forward hard enough to shove Spencer a few inches further up the sofa. He ducks his head, groans against Spencer's pulse, “Of course I do. _Fuck_.” His fangs are out, drawing over the taut skin of Spencer's neck. 

“Then _why won't_ you?” Spencer moans, more to himself than anything. 

Brendon shakes his head and doesn't answer. He gets his hands under Spencer's hips and hauls him up. The angle is so much better like this. Spencer hooks his heels as high as he can on Brendon's waist. His hands grab at Brendon's shoulders, slide down his back, cool and smooth under Spencer's touch. He wants to feel it go hot with his blood.

“I told you, you can,” Spencer says, all his breath leaving him in a huff at a particularly hard thrust.

Brendon leans his weight on his elbows, raising his head to meet Spencer's eyes. He slows down, rocking forward gently. His hand brushes the hair back from Spencer's face. Spencer swallows hard, fighting the urge to squirm back, make Brendon go faster. 

“I could whenever I wanted,” Brendon says. Cold fingers flutter down Spencer's cheek and grip Spencer's jaw. The touch is light, but Spencer knows the strength behind it. He tilts Spencer's head back, baring his throat, and leans in.

And it's true, Spencer knows, that Brendon's powerful enough to take what he wants. But if Brendon were the sort of person to take what he wanted just because he could, Spencer probably wouldn't want Brendon to bite him. He sort of feels incredibly stupid at the realisation.

“Brendon,” Spencer says, waiting until Brendon looks up at him again before speaking, “I _want_ you to. I want it. Please.”

Brendon's eyes widen, dart back and forth across Spencer's face, searching. Whatever he finds makes him duck his head again, mouth pressed open to Spencer's skin. Spencer lets out a hiss that might be a _yes_ and Brendon answers by driving back into Spencer, uneven and jerky. He's moving in earnest again, all the while mouthing at Spencer's throat.

“Please,” Spencer says again. “Please, please,” over and over. He's never been the sort to beg for anything, but then nothing's ever made him feel the way Brendon does.

When it actually happens, it's nothing like Spencer could have anticipated. It doesn't hurt, even a little, not even when Brendon's fangs break the skin. Spencer remembers it hurting the first time. Now he doesn't know if it really did, or if he just imagined that, because this actually feels good, almost like a release. 

Spencer sighs, going slack under Brendon. His fingers drift down Brendon's back until his hands fall useless at his sides. The pleasure rolls through Spencer in waves, each time Brendon draws another mouthful of blood from him. 

Brendon gets a hand under Spencer's leg and hauls it up higher over his hip, fucking hard and fast now, and making these deep sounds, hungry and sated at the same time. Spencer wouldn't have thought it was possible to be more turned on than he already was. He moans sort of helplessly, tries to arch into Brendon, but can't get his body to cooperate.

Spencer blinks his eyes open and the room spins crazily, like he's drunk, but without the lurch in his stomach. Brendon's touch is burning hot, but Spencer thinks it has less to do with a change in Brendon's temperature, and more to do with the fact that Spencer is cold all over. Everywhere Brendon touches him, Spencer feels slick with sweat.

“Okay?” Brendon murmurs, and Spencer has to focus really hard to understand. He makes himself meet Brendon's gaze. “I can stop.” He doesn't actually sound like he can.

“No,” Spencer manages. His tongue feels too heavy in his mouth. Brendon's brow is furrowed in concern, the inside of his lips copper red. Spencer shakes his head and tries again. “Yes, I'm okay. Don't stop.” Now that Brendon has stopped actively drinking from him, Spencer's brain seems to be working again. As well as it ever does in the middle of sex.

Brendon makes a hopeless sound and leans back in, the flat of his tongue dragging up Spencer's throat before his fangs sink in again. It's... there's really nothing Spencer can compare it to, both rawer and more complex than the feeling of Brendon fucking him. 

Spencer can feel himself teetering on the edge, and when he finally tips over, it's like his orgasm is being wrenched from him. His whole body shakes with the force of it, and he actually fucking _blacks out_ , only distantly aware of Brendon still moving above him, driving back in over and over with these soft moaning sounds vibrating against the skin of Spencer's neck.

When Spencer opens his eyes, Brendon's watching him with a half-amused, half-anxious expression. “I thought I broke you,” he says.

“You did,” Spencer croaks, and shit, his voice is wrecked, what's that about?

“Hang on,” Brendon says, and gets up, coming back with a glass of water a second later. He manages to squeeze himself between Spencer and the back of the sofa, hooking an arm around Spencer's waist to keep him from the edge. His free hand brushes over the wounds on Spencer's neck, and fuck, _now_ they sting.

Spencer hisses, but doesn't pull away. He can see that Brendon's worried, and doesn't want to give him a fucking complex, or something. So instead he leans into the touch, tilting his head back against the arm of the sofa, and drinks half the glass in one go.

“Was it good breaking?” Brendon asks, when Spencer swallows and sets the glass on the floor.

“Brendon,” Spencer says. He laughs, because he can't help it. His whole body is sort of tingling, and a little discomfort after the fact isn't enough to turn him off the idea of doing this again. He stretches and wraps his arm around Brendon, drawing him closer, pulling until Brendon's lying half-on top of him. “That was seriously—I don't even—”

“So, yes,” Brendon says, and he's starting to look cocky now. He sighs and lays his head down over Spencer's heart. “S'good, because, fuck, Spencer, you taste...” he trails off with a groan, fingers idly trailing down Spencer's sides, making the muscles jump. “It wasn't just you, but everything you were feeling, how turned on you were, and how you just trusted me to--”

Spencer cuts him off, tugging on Brendon's hair and ducking to kiss him. “So how long before we can do it again?”


End file.
